


Patron

by MorriKrye



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: AU, Baby's First Kill, But not actually showing it, GTA AU, Gen, Gods and Magic AU, Mentions of Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriKrye/pseuds/MorriKrye
Summary: Ryan scrubbed furiously at the drying blood on his hands. His whole body was speckled with it, the remnants of a bastard who took some teasing too far. The water turned red, swirling down the drain of a cheap motel sink.Shuffling in the other room would have bothered him, but the woman had apparently watched him kill Dave. She offered him down help out, even letting him keep the knife that he had tucked in his pocket.
After his first kill, A young Vagabond to be might have found an ally in an unusual way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a half baked AU I have regarding the Fake AH Crew having patron gods and goddesses. 
> 
> This is my first posted fanfic, so reviews are appreciated.

Ryan scrubbed furiously at the drying blood on his hands. His whole body was speckled with it, the remnants of a bastard who took some teasing too far. The water turned red, swirling down the drain of a cheap motel sink.  
Shuffling in the other room would have bothered him, but the woman had apparently watched him kill Dave. She offered him down help out, even letting him keep the knife that he had tucked in his pocket.  
The knife was on the sinks counter, already thoroughly washed and ready for bleach. If his hands would get clean, then he could move on.  
The blood was stuck under his nails, and he was not sure if he could get his hands to not shake. They weren't right then, but they would start. That's what TV told him happened.  
But none of this was like on TV.  
Killing Dave did not bother him. Bashing his screaming face, finding out exactly what inside of a boy looked like. Even as the body let go of everything. He did not feel a real rush or like he was going to throw up. He only felt calm.  
Then the woman was asking if he wanted any help.  
Shaking his head and moving the water up his arm, he started to scrub the blood there. It was already flaking, and came off easily. It did the same on his face.  
He put his knife back in his pocket and walked into the main room.  
The plush carpet felt hard, and it smelled of something. For everything new for him today, he did not think that he wanted to know what the smell actually was. Perhaps a lesson for a different day.  
"You should get rid of those clothes. They are filthy."  
The woman did not spare him a second glance, simply watching the old TV. It's light did not bounce off her hair, her skin hardly coloured by it. Even as the colourful cartoon played on, she looked remarkably dull.  
On one of the beds, there was a set of clothing. It did not look like what she was wearing. Must have been for him.  
He went back into the bathroom, quickly changing. The entire outfit was a bit too big. Making him look much smaller. Less threatening.  
He was not a small boy, and in that moment he felt like nothing but. A stupid, small, blue eyed, blond haired boy. One who now had nowhere to go.  
That though finally sunk in. He had nowhere to go.  
His parents would not take him back in, even if the police never charge him. They would know. Every glance at him would be accusing, thinking him some demon instead of their little boy.  
He still did not panic. Not feeling oddly numb. Like nothing could hurt him again, but that he might never feel joy again. That numb was all his life could be again.  
"Do you need help?" The woman's voice was muffled by the door. Even it did not make him feel any less numb. "Or are you just contemplating everything?"  
Opening the door, he stuck his head into the room just enough to look at her.  
She had only moved up the bed, and was now flicking through channels. The different colours changed the room around her, but she still looked the same. Like nothing could change her.  
"Sit down," she turned the TV off, and flicked on the lamp between the beds, "let's have a talk."  
He hesitated, but did eventually move to the other bed. His bed, he guessed. Facing her, he sat on the edge.  
"Why did you kill that boy?"  
He tensed. It was one thing to know he did it, and know that she knew, but to hear it out loud made it seem real. Dave was dead, and he did it.  
Had she proven that she would not turn him in? Maybe she was a weird undercover officer. Luring the culprits and making them confess.  
Looking into her eyes, some part of him told him no. They were eyes like his, oddly cruel, far too bright for any normal person. If he squinted, he could swear they were white.  
"He was pushing me around. Said that my family was better off without me and that there was nothing that could stop him from ruining my life." Anger rose in his throat. It was a nice feeling, knowing that he wasn't actually numb. "So I did something about it."  
"Has he done something like it before?"  
"Yeah. He's just mad that I took 'his' girl to the dance. Escalated it. Though being on the team meant he was stronger than me. Guess he wasn't."  
She gave a small noise, laying back on her bed.  
"Well, you have a few options." She rose her hand, pointer finger extended. "First; you turn yourself in. Second -" the next finger raised "- you try to live here. They might get you, they might not. Third; You run. I might teach you a few things, you might get to kill again."  
"What!" He jumped from his bed, hand reaching into his pocket. "What makes you think that I want that?"  
"Because you responded to verbal harassment by caving the kids head in. They'll have to use fingerprints to identify the body. And-" she pointed to his hand, " you responded to the idea that you enjoy murder by grabbing your knife. Not helping the idea of a 'well-adjusted boy', is it?"  
He could not argue against that, and none of him felt disgusted by the third option. Parts of his brain were screaming that it was wrong, but they did so like they were in the distance. Not quite him, some other person trying to stop him.  
"Why?" His knife was pulled out, but he did sit back down. "Why would you help me, and why should I trust you?"  
"I remember my first kill. And things have changed since then." She looked back at him, and he swears that she looked years younger. "You need help, and I think you did a great job. Do you need a bit of technical help? Sure. But a talent is certainly there."  
There was a moment of silence. She said nothing more, and they only stared at each other. It was not as unnerving as he thought it would be. Even as her irises were most definitely white.  
"Why should I trust you?"  
"I haven't handed you over to the police. And you caught my interest. First rule; do not hand your clan over."  
"What?"  
She rolled her eyes, and it annoyed him. Like he was supposed to have known something that he obviously didn't.  
"Right." She held the word, dragging it out. "I forgot. You grew up Christian, or at least not polythetic, right?" She waited for him to nod. "Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Morrigan. Or 'The Morrigan'."  
He looked at her. She's insane. She has to be. There is no way that -  
Her body shifted, and in a matter of seconds there is a large Raven sitting on the bed before him. It cocked its head one way, then the other, and hopped.  
"Okay."  
She shifted back, and sat before him. Smiling, a hand was placed upon his shoulder.  
"Look, today was probably a huge one. Get some rest. You can make decisions in the morning."  
She turned out the light, rolled over, and was soon softly snoring.  
He tried to do the same. Honestly, he did. But his mind was racing. The part that told him to go home and forget all of this was getting louder.  
That he can go, pretend that he did nothing wrong and that he is an innocent young man. He probably could. No previous record of violence, or anything. He could get away with this. Once.  
Another part screamed against it. It wanted carnage, and blood, and death. Wanted to see what the woman - The Morrigan - could teach him. What he could do.  
He had heard of her, from movies and books. She was usually the bad guy. Violent, ready to fight, to kill all who stood in her way. Depicted as either old, or young and beautiful, but vain.  
Not like the woman trying to help him. The Morrigan in what he learned would screw him over, like she was really the devil. Maybe she was playing the long game.  
But she had not. Instead, she had helped him this much. Letting him into her car and paying for a motel room. Doing nothing against him.  
And since he can't really go home.  
He finally got to sleep. Blood filled dreams, but he slept well. Him, menacing and violent, and her watching his back. It could work.  
When the sun hit his face, he found the room empty. The other bed was perfectly made, with a duffle bag sitting on top of it. Keys sat on it, he guessed to the car that she drove him in.  
Opening the bag, there were a few sets of clothes. A nice, but cheap looking jacket, wrapped around something hard. Untangling it, a mirror with a note.  
'Hope I am not wrong with you, because I am sure as hell giving you a lot. Just look, then focus. Won't want you being caught.'  
He took the note off, and stared at his reflection. His hair was the same shade of black as hers was. When he tried to focus on it, it seemingly shifted back to his natural blond.  
Under it all was a pile of cash. Another note was under the pile.  
‘If you want to learn better, come find me. You’ll know where.’  
And he thought he did.


End file.
